


we got a wicked ignition

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Other, Threesome, Xenobiology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-01
Updated: 2012-02-01
Packaged: 2017-10-30 11:36:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/331326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"At first you'd thought Terezi felt a little left out of this clusterfuck of a relationship, always watching you and Karkat at each others' throats and goading each other on, but you've come to realize that she doesn't mind being a little on the sidelines.  Correction: she gets off on it."</p>
            </blockquote>





	we got a wicked ignition

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing this relationship or any sort of explicit fic, really, so my apologies if it's terrible! But yeah, TZ/KK/Dave is the best OT3, fight me.

In between the two of you Karkat is a wire stretched taut, buzzing and shaking with an overabundance of electricity, his sharp intakes of breath the hum of a machine. You're probably beginning to sound a little like that troll with the horsey name, the one you don't remember clearly and you're glad for that, what with all these electronics metaphors, but you can't think of any other way to describe the troll currently splayed across Terezi's lap that doesn't sound entirely stupid. It's hard to think up to your usual witty level with your face buried between his legs, anyway.

There's already red dripping down your chin, your tongue working over the sensitive spot at the base of his bulge and you thank both human and troll Jegus and whatever other gods or God Tiers are out there that Terezi's got a hold of his wrists, because Karkat's got an annoying habit of covering his mouth with the back of one clawed hand at times like this and you're pretty sure if the sound of him failing to hold back his gasps and moans was the last thing you heard you'd die happy and with a boner the size of Texas. He can't quite form words, some mumbled phrases that sound vaguely like your name and the word "fuck" all that's discernable between incoherency and those strange clicking sounds you've noticed trolls make when they're really getting down and dirty. And, shit, you're pretty sure that was a "please" in there somewhere when you lick a stripe all the way up to the tip of what you've oh-so-delicately deemed "the trouser tentacle."

"Well, you heard him, coolkid," Terezi grins - you don't even have to look to know she's grinning wider than a tooth-whitening strip commercial. "He said _please_."

At first you'd thought Terezi felt a little left out of this clusterfuck of a relationship, always watching you and Karkat at each others' throats and goading each other on, but you've come to realize that she doesn't mind being a little on the sidelines. Correction: she gets off on it, ordering the two of you around under the guise of keeping the peace, stroking Karkat's hair when you fuck him and whispering low in his ear what a good boy he is and if he's quiet maybe she'll even go fetch the bucket in time. Now she's watching with amusement and something almost like fondness in her eyes as you lean back, licking red off your lips and sliding two fingers into his nook - thank god for weird gooey alien pussy, you guess, though you don't imagine he'd mind a little pain and discomfort. You always thought he looked a little too flushed - in the blood rushing to the face sense, not the quadranty sense, or maybe a little of both - when Terezi went after him for a particularly assholish remark with that cane of hers.

Karkat moans and his back fucking _arches_ and you want to freeze time right then and there, count every vertebrae of his spine, graph the curve and captchalogue the equation to keep all to yourself. The scientific formula for banging every angry, caustic thought from Karkat Vantas's head. Your fingers find their way deeper, searching for the spot that always seems to turn him into a moaning, shaking mess - no, you don't know what it's called, seems to be the troll equivalent of the human g-spot but you're not really interested in troll junk terminology - and when he hisses a curse you know you've got him in the palm of your hand (more accurately, your fingertips, but you'll take what you can get.) He lets slip an actual porn star level moan when Terezi's tongue finds his horn, and between the two of you and your actions you can feel him coming apart, the seams of his control stretching to the breaking point.

When his breath catches in his throat audibly with a pathetic almost-squeak you know well enough by now to withdraw your hand if you don't want your shirt sleeve soaked. There's a reason why buckets are the trendy accessory for troll fucking sessions - and, oops, you seem to have forgotten one, which doesn't bother you in the least but Karkat's probably going to bitch about the lack of one for the rest of the day. Whatever. Terezi's tongue wraps around one nubby horn a final time and that's all it takes to send him over the edge, a wordless shudder wracking his body when he comes. She holds his wrists through it, you just watch appreciatively from overtop of your shades.  
You've almost got the mess from the afternoon's, um, activities mopped up with a spare towel that happened to find its way into your sylladex by the time Karkat's thinking straight enough to speak. "Fuck," he says reverently, almost like a prayer. Terezi chuckles and runs a hand through the tangles of his hair.

"Pretty sure that's what just happened, yeah," you inform him, earning you a half-hearted middle finger thrown in your general direction. He curls in on his side, his arms freed from Terezi's grip, his head resting against her knee and you'd swear his sigh sounds almost contented. You captchalogue the towel again, making a mental note to clean it before it returns to its original owner, and flop down next to them, your head on Terezi's shoulder and your hand lazily entagled with Karkat's bonier one.

"My candy-blooded boys," Terezi says appreciatively, laughing again and letting her head fall against yours.

"Who says we're yours," Karkat mutters, regaining some of his sarcasm from the abyss that fucked-out bliss had apparently sent it to temporarily.

"Dude, we're pretty obviously her bitches," you point out. Karkat grumbles at that, but his grip on your hand tightens and the corner of his mouth twitches upwards a little and you both know it's true, all three of you know. And you can't speak for the two of them, but you're more than okay with that.


End file.
